Not Quite A Bedtime Story
by squelchything
Summary: Beru Lars tells four year old Luke what happened to his grandmother.


"Aunt Beru! Aunt Beru-u!"  
  
Beru Lars set down the small shirt she was mending, and sighed. This was the third time Luke had been out of bed tonight. He was too hot; he needed the fresher-what now?  
  
"I'm thirsty," her little nephew announced, pattering in the door. Beru glanced at the small figure.  
  
"Your feet will get cold," she scolded automatically.  
  
"No, my sleepies have feeties in them, look."  
  
Beru smiled.  
  
"Go back to bed, Luke, and I'll bring a drink in to you."  
  
She went to the milk dispenser and poured him a tumbler full. Luke had run back into his room ahead of her and was sitting on the bed, swinging his short legs. She handed him his milk.  
  
"What do you say now?"  
  
"'Anks, Auntie-" Luke mumbled, dribbling milk down his chin. Beru tucked the red blanket round his knees-it was his favourite, the one he'd been wrapped in when she had first held him, four years ago. He grabbed a corner of it with his free hand, his blue eyes regarding her solemnly over the rim of his mug of milk.  
  
"Aunt B'ru, where Uncle Owen?"  
  
"Outside, dear."  
  
"He's grumpy today."  
  
"He's sad, Lukie. This is the anniversary of the day Shmi died."  
  
"What's a 'niversersary?"  
  
"You know how your birthday comes round every season? That's the anniversary of your birth-you were born on that date. Your grandmother died on this date."  
  
"That why Gramps sad?" Luke asked, handing her his mug. Beru nodded. Her father-in-law was getting frail-she thought he had never recovered from his wife's death, or the loss of his leg. Luke-sunny, merry little Luke-was a help to him, cheered him up. But not today.  
  
Beru began speaking again, half to herself, half to the child at her side.  
  
"She was a good person, Lukie. She'd had a hard life, a very hard life, but she was still strong. She could work like a man, but she was kind, very quiet and gentle. You're not going to take after her, I don't think-you're more like your mother, though you've a look of Shmi round the eyes. She was always a little sad though-she missed her Ani. She was always looking over the horizon to see if he would come flying in in his spaceship. If only he had come back a month earlier-it would have made her so happy!"  
  
"Why was she not?" Luke demanded, clutching his blanket under his chin. Beru glanced down at him uncertainly. Owen thought the less Luke knew of Anakin and his peculiar talent the better-Luke was an incorrigible chatterbox. And the tale of Shmi's death was not quite a bedtime story for a four-year-old.  
  
But perhaps he ought to know. If nothing else, it might discourage his tendency to wander off on his own.   
  
So Beru took a breath and began, "It was the Sand people, Luke-Tuskans. She went out every morning to pick mushrooms from the vaporators-and they took her. We all thought she was dead-" Beru skimmed over the worst aspects of Shmi's death-Luke's eyes were already huge, and his thumb was creeping into his mouth.  
  
"Then your parents arrived. Your father-" Luke leaned forward eagerly; he already showed an active curiosity about his absent father. "-your father went out into the Dune Sea on Owen's swoop bike. He got in there somehow-but she was dead. He came back here with her body in his arms. He didn't say a word-but his face! Oh, Lukie, I hope you never have cause to-"  
  
She broke off, and kissed his forehead.  
  
"That's why you should never, never go off on your own, or go outside the electron fence at night," she added a moral to the tale. "Now lie down and go to sleep, like a good boy."  
  
"G'night, Auntie," Luke said, lying down obediently.  
  
"Goodnight, Luke. Sleep well."  
  
"Say good night to Blankie too!"  
  
Beru laughed, and patted the blanket.  
  
"Goodnight, Blankie."  
  
Owen was in the kitchen when she went to wash up Luke's mug, dispensing himself some milk of his own. Beru put any arm round his shoulders.  
  
"You telling Luke about Mom?"  
  
"He asked me."  
  
"He asks too many questions. Asked me yesterday who holds the suns up-try explaining gravity to a kid his age! Did you tell him about Anakin coming here?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"The way he pounces on it-or anything to do with the Jedi-it scares me, Beru. It's almost uncanny."  
  
"All children are like that-head straight to the one thing you don't want them to ask."  
  
"All the same, I don't like it. Don't tell him anything more-quite apart from putting ideas into his head, he can't keep his mouth shut-imagine him spreading it round Anchorhead that his father was a-what he was. We'll tell him something else."  
  
"It'll only make him worse in the long run-but you're right, it can't be helped."  
  
She leaned her head on her husband's shoulder.  
  
"Oh, Owen, I wish it had never happened!"  
  
"Which-Mom or Anakin?"  
  
"Both."  
  
"Yeah, me too. That's why we have to look after Luke. We have to make it work for him." 


End file.
